Baskadia

Amidst the stillness of the night, A pronoun whispered on the air, A sound so small, yet full of might, A symbol of a love so rare.

For she is more than just a word, More than just a simple sound, She is the one that we've preferred, The one that we have always found.

In her we see a world of grace, A beauty that transcends all art, A gentle smile upon her face, A beating of a loving heart.

Yet in the end, what is she but, A passing breeze, a fleeting dream, A memory that slowly cuts, A wound that never seems to clean.

So let us not be fooled by her, Nor by the passions that she brings, For in the end, what will occur, Is that she'll fly on feathered wings.